


don't worry baby, it's not gonna hurt

by swallowedsong (bookstvnerdlove)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstvnerdlove/pseuds/swallowedsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just a little domme!Beth ficlet for bethyl smut week on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't worry baby, it's not gonna hurt

She may sing like an angel, but Beth Greene has this voice that sends shivers down his spine. He’s the only one who’s heard it, this calm, low tone that she uses some nights, that tone that makes him helpless to resist her. That tone that makes him want to do whatever it is she asks. **  
**

The things she asks of him he would want to do anyway, to slide his hands under her shirt and to tug at the cups of her bra, threadbare and worn, so always careful it doesn’t tear. Even though she’s whispered things to him at night, in the dark, about hearing that ripping sound, how it would make her heart race, knowing that he wanted her so much that he couldn’t wait, how it would make her wet and wanting to see his arms flex like that for her. 

He would want to wrap his lips around her nipple and suck, his rough hands palming, cupping, lifting her to his mouth. He loves that, the velvety feel of her against his tongue, the soft moans that he elicits when he grazes with his teeth. He’d do that even if she she didn’t tell him to in that voice of hers. So firm. So insistent. So perfect, when she tells him he’s allowed to touch her now, and his fingers brush her flesh, first through thin cotton and then sliding under, thrusting and gliding, spreading her slickness, her sweet desire, until his hand is covered in her.

And when she tells him  _oh god please, I need your mouth on me,_ and when he goes to press his mouth to her there, where she’s wet and shining, she likes to stop him. Sometimes. She likes to make him wait, when he’s on his knees for her and he’s staring at her. When she’s glistening and her fingers slide down her belly and she makes him watch her work herself before he’s allowed it join.

She always gasps his name when his tongue touches her and her fingers find their grip in his hair and she tugs and it hurts but he likes the sharp pain and the sharp taste of her. It makes him hard and aching this way of touching her, knowing her, pleasing her. A heaviness in his dick, his erection straining against his pants. 

Sometimes she lets him slide down his zipper and touch himself while he licks at her clit. Sometimes it’s his thick fingers inside of her, two or three and her walls clenching around them. Sometime she releases her hands from his hair and it’s  _her_  fingers thrusting inside herself. And always, always, she loves to make him wait, wait until she’s come more than once and he’s painfully hard and she hasn’t even touch him. To wait until all it takes is one thrust inside her or her lips wrapped around him, and a gentle command and then he’s coming in a hot burst.

It’s that tone of hers that does it every time. That hardness coated in the gentle lilt, the gentile southern lady with a spine of steel who knows what she wants. And she’s chosen him, she wants him and only him. If he had met her years ago he would have called her princess with a drunken slur and a sneer, cigarette dangling from his lips. She’s not a princess though. She’s a goddamn fucking  _queen_ who rides his dick, head thrown back and breasts bouncing until she tells him it’s okay to let go.


End file.
